Left Behind
by Shadow's Nocturne
Summary: Born of adultery, Khayin was abandoned by his useless father, and his mother passed away when he was three. Starving on the streets, he realized the only way to survive was to steal, deceive, and eventually murder his way through Nohr's criminal underworld, until fate places him on a path of redemption.
1. Prologue

Left Behind

Khayin opened his eyes. It was to be another day. Another struggle. After all that was his life, wasn't it? Since he was a child his life was a never-ending battle. Nohr was a dog eat-dog-world, and he would not have lasted a minute if he had wallowed in self-pity.

He stepped into the miserable pit he called a bath and readied the brackish water that would try to cleanse him. Khayin ran his hands over his scars, breathing deeply as he recounted how every single one was dealt- his daily ritual to not repeat mistakes.

The first, running over his left collar bone, was bestowed upon him when he was two. His father, a drunk Hoshidan beat him and his mother half near to death, before abandoning them to die.

The second, streaking across his back was shortly after his mother's death at the age of three. He had no way to eat, and he was caught stealing. Despite barely being able to speak, he was flogged for "insulting the right of property".

The third, an "X" across his chest was the most painful. When he was fifteen, he unknowingly interrupted a Nohrian royal precession along the river celebrating the coming of age of Prince Xander. He thought he was robbing some rich noble who was too fat to resist. To his horror, he found King Garon, Princess Camilla, and the "Paragon Knight" himself. Armed with a sword that in his virgin hand was nothing more than a prop, he found himself dueling Xander for his life. Xander didn't even draw a weapon. After sidestepping Khayin's strokes, Xander disarmed him and used his own sword to cut two quick slashes across the chest, and the royals left him there for dead.

The fourth was the most recent, and was the result of an easy drug trade gone sideways. The buyer was tailed, and Khayin and his men had to dispose of thirty of the Nohrian Guard. Right when he thought they were out, his Royal Prickliness Xander showed up. Despite Khayin's warnings they all charged him, and were struck dead within moments. Filled with terror, Khayin ran as fast as he could, tears of guilt and shame running down his face. It had been ten years since he had last looked that demon in the eyes. One of Xander's archers managed graze his cheek with an arrow as he turned the corner, leading to a marked cheek.

That was three years ago. Now he worked for the Brotherhood of the Forlorn, a group of assassins-for-hire based in the woods after which they were named. Today he had a rather interesting assignment. If he completed it, he would become the third-in-command, due to having the third-highest kill count. Some parrot-like nobleman, Diego, or Iago, or something like that wanted a certain "whore" dead. Khayin wasn't particularly fond of killing pregnant women, but with a father like Iago, he knew from experience he was doing the unborn kid a favor. Besides, this was Nohr, and if he didn't- someone else would.

He strapped on his knives, checked his swords for nicks, and donned the flexible yet concealing blown-black robe that would let him blend in with Windmire's rotting buildings. Iago had prepared the whole scenario, and had the perfect scapegoat. After he visited his "love", Iago, would leave the door slightly open, and Khayin would come in and clean up, leaving the glove of a former lover behind the door. It would be set as a crime of passion, and Khayin would pocket some easy money.

But why the hell would it go according to plan right? The beginning was easy enough, all he had to do was sneak in. As he drew his Killing Edge blade and prepared to dispose of the woman, he heard a sudden shout to stop.

"Drop the weapon! And turn around slowly!"

Khayin groaned. "Of course, of course-but must it be slowly?" he cooed slyly, dropping the weapon and spinning around with the woman held in front of him. The guard was clearly a rookie, clearly shaking in fear, having never dealt with a psychopath like Khayin before.

"Now if you don't mind", Khayin jeered, "I've got places to be." He threw the woman onto the guard's blade, killing her. The guard, eyes wide in shock and mouth agape, did nothing to stop him from walking by.

"Murder! Bloody murder! A traitor has killed Lady Milova! Someone come quick!" Khayin proclaimed before running around a corner. That would buy him some time (the guard would have to be the new scapegoat until they realized what actually happened), Khayin thought as he turned the corner, and ran right into a certain noble.

"If it isn't the coward himself," Xander sneered as Khayin picked himself off the floor.

Khayin mockingly bowed as he eyes the windows and other avenues of escape. If he was going to run, he needed a way to get to the windows that did not involve him getting skewered by Xander. "Your Prickliness, it is an absolute honor to run into you, but I really must be on my way-" he muttered, before being punched in the face by Xander.

"You're going to rot in jail, scum. A pregnant woman? Does your decadency know no bounds?" Xander fumed before throwing Khayin against a wall with a crack.

 _That one's gonna hurt tomorrow_ , Khayin thought. However, Xander was playing right into his plan. All he had to do was piss him off some more until Xander forced him near the window. "I've got a long checklist, buddy, so you might want to wrap this up. I've got some money to spend. Maybe I'll come back later and we can continue this little tea party?"

That was all it took to cross the line. Xander lunged at him and Khayin quickly leaped aside, dodging him, and drew one of his knives and brought it down towards Xander, who had brought himself into a corner to tight to safely draw his sword.

Xander pivoted and stopped the knife barely an inch away from his face. "You are a coward! A disgrace! You ran as your men died! They died for you, you bastard! And this is how you repay them? A life of crime and madness? Is there any compassion in your black heart?"

Khayin smirked. "Good question. Perhaps it is better left for next time?" Laughing at Xander's confused visage, he suddenly- without and hesitation or twitches that would have given it away- jumped right through the window, and into the streets of Windmire, where he effortlessly blended into the large, crowd.

Windmire was the ruins of a once grand-kingdom. Its walls, once a mighty obsidian, were now the color of flaked rust and mold. Towers precariously loomed over the city, ready to fall with one final heaving breath at any moment. The streets were no longer paved, the poor would dislodge the stones and trade them for whatever meagre earnings they could fetch. Besides, as an old friend had once put aptly, none walked the streets of Windmire but the poor and the stupid.

Khayin shuffled into a rather obscure garden to rendezvous with Iago and report the success.

"I thought I was paying for a top-tier assassin," Iago jeered. "Not some armed boor."

"Listen up Diego, it-"

"Iago."

"Whatever. It wasn't exactly as empty as you promised. I had quite the reunion with Prince Xander. If anything, I should be getting payed more."

Iago smirked. "Be grateful I don't smite you where you stand. Keep in mind you address the right hand of Garon."

 _You might as well be the heir to the throne, you idiot. Like I keep track of the nobility,_ Khayin silently mused. "My humblest apologies, Lord Iago." Khayin was in no condition to take on a powerful sorcerer after the beating Xander gave him.

Lord Iago huffed, "Scum should know their place," before vanishing in a flash of light.

Khayin sighed. Xander's words had hit him like a galleon. "Who have I become?" he screamed at no one. He picked up the sac of money and flung it over the wall. _He's right. I am a coward, a thief, and a killer. But how can I reject that which is in my nature? Squalor is my birthright, my survival my conquest._

He slowly, and painfully, made his way back to his den.

* * *

Notes: Well, I've been in hiding for over a year now after threats were made for me, and I am now living in the free world again. My old fanfic got deleted for some reason, so I've got to start from scratch on a new project. This story, from now, does not have a happy ending. Any of you who read Fire Emblem lore can tell where this is going. Big shout out to Gunlord500, who was a pillar of support in my hard times. If you haven't read his fanfic Wayward Son, screw my trash writing and read it.


	2. Chapter 1: Tragedy

Sacrifice

It was early dawn by the time Khayin made it back to the hideout, and the first light was penetrating the cloak of trees above. After a long night, he was more than happy to get some rest. Cursing heavily, he made his way through the muck. It was both a blessing, and a curse, serving as a natural line of defense. Attackers would be helpless to evade the arrows of the defending assassins while they were stuck in the mud.

He needed to buy new weapons. His sword was still on the floor in Lady Milova's room in the castle, and his other knife was still with Xander. A trip to one of the tribes would more than suffice. Windmire would be a deathtrap for Khayin after the murder of a high-profile member of the aristocracy.

Something just didn't add up. Why would Iago have her killed? Surely such a marriage was advantageous? Khayin would never understand the oddities of the nobility.

Khayin unlocked the door, and made his way into the hideout.

"Well looks who's back! The bane of Nohr's finest!" a loud voice boomed across the entry hall.

"Ah, Butch, just as noisy as ever. That mission to the Fire Tribe has done wonders for your skin," Khayin jibed at the tall, muscular redhead.

Butch was a rather huge man, and was easily the physically strongest assassin in the brotherhood. His mouth was almost always drawn in a sneer, and he was a relatively intimidating fellow.

Khayin remembered when he had first joined, and had thought the man to be an oaf. However, he was as smart as he was large, and was surprisingly quite the gentle giant.

"It's not the sun that tanned him, it was one of those…. sophisticated brothels on our way back," deadpanned a dark-haired, boyish looking man.

Bartholomew wasn't really that short, but everyone poked fun at him because his partner was so huge.

Khayin chuckled, "I didn't know you were into that Butch! There's this one place down in the capital city with great-"

Butch's face reddened, "I swear Bart, one of these days I'm going to break a finger for every lie you tell."

Bart smirked. "I'm gonna need a couple more hands then!"

Khayin shook his head. "You don't know when to quit, do you Bart? Goodnight guys, I have had a really long fucking night and I'm gonna call it quits."

He treaded upstairs and into his room. He dragged his feet sluggishly across the floor, and plopped onto the bed. He closed his eyes, and focused on the laughter and jibes he could hear downstairs. Khayin listened to every creak and groan of the old fortress.

The peaceful silence punctuated by talking and laughter reminded him of the nights he spent cold and alone, growing up in the dark alleys of Nohr. Xander's words resonated in his head. Did his black heart have no compassion?

Khayin grimaced. Compassion didn't keep you from starving. Compassion didn't put a roof over your head. As far as he knew, his heart was as black as the Nohrian sky. He drifted to sleep meditating upon the question he had cried out to that sky. Who had he become.

When Khayin awoke a few hours later he could hear the clash of steel and the ringing of metal upon metal. He assumed it was just a rather vigorous training session until he heard the blood-chilling cry of a wyvern.

Khayin leaped out of bed and strapped a few knives to his belt, and picked up a Wyrmslayer he had lying around in his armory. He flew down the stairs, screaming "We're under attack!" As the poor man stepped outside, a monstrous site greeted him. A fellow assassin was cleaved in two, his brains and guts spilled onto the floor.

Khayin was no stranger to violence or death, but this was significantly more gruesome than what he was accustomed to. The unsettled fellow bent over and puked out what undigested from last night's dinner.

"PULL IT TOGETHER KHAYIN, THE BATTLE IS FROM FROM OVER!" boomed a confident voice across the battlefield. It was the leader, Hitama, an assassin from the Mokushu clan. He had left a wife and son, Kotaro, behind, so that he could afford to provide them with the means to live.

Khayin's head snapped up upon recognizing the voice. "Yes sir!" he called out. A wyvern rider was coming in a straight line for Khayin. Khayin braced himself, then jumped onto the wyvern's snout, disorienting it. He then placed a solid kick on the rider, knocking him off, and now that he was alone, plunged the Wyrmslayer through the beast's head. It slid through like butter, radiating anti-draconic energy. Very few weapons besides the Falchion of Archanea, and the sacred weapons of Elibe could cut through dragonhide so easily. Khayin followed up this strike with two throwing knives to the rider's chest. Each found their mark in a lung, and the rider collapsed forwards.

An arrow, zipping out of nowhere, impaled Khayin's arm. Grimacing in pain, Khayin snapped the arrow and pulled it out, all while taking cover from the onslaught of arrows. He cringed as he saw a fellow assassin take an arrow to the eye. To be killing off highly-trained assassins this easily, their opponents could be none other than the White Claw, a vigilante organization that targeted assassins and other criminals for hire. Looks like Khayin's recent antics in Windmire had garnered some unwanted attention. "Iago, you snake," Khayin muttered to himself. He was the only possible one who could have given the location of the stronghold. After all, Iago used to be a member. It made sense that he would want to tie up loose ends.

Khayin took out his own bow and arrow, took a deep breath, and fired at where the original shot came from. There was no indication that Khayin hit his mark. After a few seconds an arrow whizzed back, barely nicking Khayin's shoulder. Cursing, Khayin drew another arrow. Surely if this missed, the enemy sniper would not miss again. He dashed from his cover and fired a clear and well-aimed shot into the clearing. This was the easiest shot, but if he missed he was screwed. Khayin smiled with satisfaction as he heard a cry of pain. He dashed into the clearing, but the sniper was nowhere to be found.

He felt a sudden shock course through him as he got body slammed, and his sword flew out of his hand. The sniper was bleeding from his hip, but refused to go down without a fight. Khayin threw a right hook at the sniper, grazing his chin. The sniper swiped left clumsily, but it was too late for Khayin to realize that it was a feint. The sniper's left uppercut made solid contact on Khayin's jaw. Disoriented, Khayin stumbled backwards, and the sniper mercilessly followed up with a well-placed kick to Khayin's ribs.

It was a good shot. Khayin always hated the feeling of having the wind knocked out of his chest. Khayin, however was a veteran of many painful fights, and got up and retaliated with a swift flurry of punches. Two or three found their mark, but the sniper managed to spin around Khayin and kick his feet out from under him. With Khayin on the floor, the archer took out an arrow and brought it down.

Barely managing to move his head mere centimeters away from the arrow, Khayin lunged for the sword, and pivoting on his heel, plunged it through the sniper's chest. The sniper staggered for a few seconds before pulling out the sword. "Oh you have got to be kidding me," Khayin groaned. However, the sniper only managed to take a step or two towards Khayin before succumbing to his wounds. Khayin sat down in exhaustion.

Bloodied, battered, and drawing heaving breaths, Khayin's vision began to fade. The last thing he saw, was a small man pointing towards him, and a familiar giant carrying him over his shoulder.

When he awoke, he was before a fire, and heard two familiar voices. "Neither of them have woken up yet, and the chief has it pretty bad. Khayin seems to breathe steadily and hasn't sustained any major injuries besides that arrow wound a broken wind," Bart babbled worriedly.

Butch grunted, "Khayin's a tough son of a bitch. He'll be fine." A look of concern swept his face as he added "But Boss isn't looking too good right now."

Khayin grunted, and tried to get up. Bart rushed to his side and helped prop him up. "Easy there, tiger," he cautioned Khayin. "You don't want to exert yourself more than necessary."

Khayin groaned and muttered, "Bart, come closer. I…I need to tell you something." Bart inched his head towards Khayin's mouth.

"You have…"

"What is it Khayin, talk to me."

"Bart?"

"I'm here buddy."

"You…have… salad in your teeth," Khayin whispered and snickered before lying back down. "Did you really just a fight a battle with lettuce between your teeth? Man no wonder you made it; they porbably couldn't focus looking at you!"

Butch and Bart both laughed nervously, taking Khayin's humor to be a good sign. A guffaw rang out. It was Hitama. "Oh Khayin, I love that spirit of yours," he said before entering a coughing fit. "I'm not long for this world. All of you listen to me. Stick together, and you can survive this. Give up this lifestyle. Become something. I did this to provide for a family I haven't seen in years, to sustain a son I've never met. I don't regret my decision, but-" he coughed every more frantically, gripping at his sides.

Bart put a hand on Hitama's shoulder. "Chief, don't talk like that. We'll get through this you see. We'll go back to Mokushu, and you can meet your son," he whispered consolingly. The tears across his face betrayed his optimism."

Shuddering, Hitama began to stammer. "Khayin, don't lose your way. You can be so much more than this. I've known that since I took you in." He began to stand up. "The rest of the enemy will be here soon. Butch, Khayin, Bart-"

Butch cut him off "Boss we aren't-"

"I'll buy you all some time, and this is a direct order, Butch," Hitama grunted as he picked up his specialized weapon, the lengthy Muramana. "I may be sore and wounded, but I can still give the three of you a proper lashing and send you on your way," he chuckled.

Bart was completely sobbing at this point. "Ch-chief, it won't be the same without you." He wiped at his eyes in equal parts sadness and shame.

Khayin had gotten to his feet and walked up to the leader. "Godspeed boss. Save some seats down there for the rest of us."

Hitama pulled Khayin in closer and whispered something only he could hear. "Stay the path, and find redemption, Khayin. I pray you never arrive where I shall journey."

Butch looked hesitantly at Hitama, but shook his head in disbelief. "It's been an honor boss, come on Bart," he said as he dragged a still weeping Bart.

Hitama turned to face the sunset as the others ran away and began to chant.

 _I close my eyes, and the sunlight still burns there_

 _I open my arms, and the wind blows through my hair._

 _I pace the land, seeking redemption._

About a dozen footsteps began to approach and Hitama took an offensive stance.

 _Fast is my blade, but death lurches faster_

 _Slow is my pain, like petals of Aster_

 _My blade is sharp, but the cold wind is sharper._

"Surround him!" a commander's voice rang out. Hitama took a deep breath, and continued his mantra.

 _Silent is the dark_

 _Patient yet stark_

 _Hark, hark!_

Then the enemy charged. Hitama swung the Muramana and swept most of them away. He lunged to the left, impaling one, and quickly twisting to dodge a thrust. He pulled out his blade and sliced his enemy in two. A lance wielder on a horse charged him, managing to stab him in the shoulder. Hitama merely grunted stabbed the horse, sending both beast and rider crashing dead to the ground.

 _I close my eyes, and the sunlight still burns there_

Khayin and the others ran, stopping momentarily upon hearing battle cries in the far distance.

Hitama kicked down an aggressor with brass knuckles. He made quick work of him, but was stabbed through the chest by a swordsman. He turned around, pulled the sword out, and screamed in primal rage. "YOU COWARD!" He readied his blade feeling the power of Astra coursing through him.

 _I open my arms, and the wind blows through my hair_

They made it to the border of the Ice Tribe, raising their hands to signal that they come in peace.

Hitama flowed like the wind, his blade cutting shallow but fatal cuts into all five of the backstabber's vitals. Grunting, he ducked to dodge another cavalryman's axe. Another dagger-wielding warrior dashed towards him, inflicting a grievous wound along his left leg before being decapitated.

 _I pace the land, seeking redemption_

The Ice Tribe turned them away, recognizing their assassin's uniform.

Hitama was beginning to falter, when the enemy commander walked to him. "I will give you the noble death you so valiantly seek," the commander confidently stated. He was wielding a Levin Sword in one hand, and a Killing Edge in the other.

 _Fast is my blade, but death lurches faster_

Cutting back through a different part of Nohr towards Windmire, they found themselves surrounded by countless Faceless.

Hitama and the commander dashed at each other like lightning. One, two, three times they parried each other's blows. Hitama managed to scratch the commander's cheek, who retaliated with a swift kick to Hitama's wounded leg.

 _Slow is my pain, like petals of Aster_

Bart -small, tired and unfocused- was torn to pieces by the onslaught of Faceless. Butch and Khayin barely survived, Bart's screams still ringing in their ears. At this point Khayin could no longer stand on his own.

Hitama felt time slow down again, and once more the power of Astra coursed through him. He landed five blows to the commander. However, the commander was barely staggered and prepared the death blow. As the sun seemed to make the commander's Killing Edge glow, Hitama closed his eyes and braced himself for what was to come.

 _My blade is sharp, but the cold wind is sharper._

Khayin and Butch found themselves face to face with a Nohrian border patrol. Butch took a defensive stance in front of Khayin with his shield and axe drawn.

The commander brought down his blade, and Hitama's lifeless corpse slumped to the ground. "You were a worthy opponent."

 _Silent is the dark_

Butch was beginning to tire. He was at the peak of physical fitness, but moving quickly and attacking powerfully in all that armor was taxing. Khayin focused on the ebb and flow of the battle, meditating his energy into a Lethality strike.

 _Patient yet stark._

The duo was on their last legs. Butch shield bashed a guard to take him down, but was struck by a Paladin holding a hammer. His axe fell from his mangled arm, and Butch fell to the floor writhing in agony. A red mage dropped Arcfire after Arcfire onto Butch and after a few seconds, the charred hulk stopped moving.

 _Hark, Hark._

Khayin opened his eyes and let his instincts take over. He rolled past a flurry of fire spells and drove his blade between the mage's eyes. The Paladin charged him, and Khayin slid under the horse and stabbed its under-side and left the sword lodged there. A spearman tried jabbing at Khayin, but Khayin grabbed the spear, flipped himself over the spearman and strangled him with the wooden shaft. The Paladin was back on his feet, sword drawn. Khayin picked up Butch's axe and let his killing intent loose, and it manifested in four mirage copies of himself. The Paladin, confused turned in a circle, trying to discern the real one.

 _HARK, HARK!_

With a sudden strike to the Paladins neck, and a satisfying crunch of bone, Khayin dealt the killing blow. As he limped into the city, he found himself surrounded my more guards. _If I can only stay conscious, I can disappear into one of these alleys._

"End of the line, Khayin," a regal, familiar voice drawled.

"Oh you've got to be fucking with me. Can I just get one tiny break?"

Xander smirked. "Nowhere for you to run now, cur." Xander cracked across Khayin's head with the hilt of his blade, and ordered his men to bring the unconscious body to the castle dungeon.


	3. Chapter 2: Incarceration

Chapter 3: The Prison

Groaning, Khayin came to. However, when he tried to rub his sore head, he found himself unable to. "What the-" he looked down in dismay at his fettered hands. "Dammit,'' he muttered. "I'm not in the mood for a prison break."

Khayin glanced around for anything in the room he might use to free himself, but found himself stumped. The room was empty, the other rooms were empty, and the whole dungeon was empty, save for a silent hooded guard, whose facial features were unclear.

"Where am I?" Khayin queried. No response. _Figured as much-they aren't dumb enough to give an assassin information. Escaping would be suicide if I have no idea where I am._ Khayin slumped back down and closed his eyes. Rest would do him no harm, considering he was trapped here for the foreseeable future.

Hours passed, and not a single grunt emerged from the guard. The total silence was beginning to drive Khayin slightly mad. He looked at the marble walls and sighed exasperatedly. Marble was not going to react with the acid he had in the hidden boot compartment. He pondered whether to use the acid on his chains, then discarded the idea. _All that would accomplish is leaving me handicapped. That guard would cut me down in seconds._

The floor was covered in dust and rat droppings, but was more or less in good condition. The untrampled, pristine, cobblestone in the other rooms gave Khayin the impression he was the only one to have been brought to this dungeon. The only other residents were the spiders in the corner of his cell. He watched as one wove its web, intricately connecting silky threads. Khayin imagined each major event in his life was a thread, interconnecting to this fate. _I'm not getting out of this. Not unless I get really, really lucky._

There wasn't even a window to give Khayin some benchmark to estimate time and the guard did not seem to tire or hunger. Not that Khayin could blame them. Surrounded with these walls, there was nothing anyone could do but stare. Each one had a repetitive design emblazoned at regular intervals across it. It was a dragon descending upon what seemed to be the enemies of Nohr, probably Hoshidans judging by their armor.

Khayin took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. He needed to meditate and reach the heart of the matter. _Why am I here? I was captured. Why am I not dead? I am of use to them._ Khayin frowned. What use would an honorable man like Xander have for an assassin? _No, I'm not useful, they just want to punish me. Perhaps extract the locations of the rest of my band if they weren't the ones who enlisted those vigilantes._

He exhaled, and deduced the following aloud. "I'm guessing you have orders not to kill me. You're sitting out there like a dog, when it would be so much easier for you to claim I attempted to escape and cut me down. Either you're stupid or Xander's loyal bitch." The guard visibly tensed at the word 'bitch'. Khayin knew better than to push, but at least now he had some information to work with. He knew that he was being held on Xander's orders, and that the guard did not have an appreciation for profanity.

 _Why was I captured? Because I was tired, because we were running, because we were attacked._ Again. Khayin contemplated the cause-effect chain. "Hey, bitch, why did you guys hire vigilante mercenaries to wipe us out. Isn't his royal Prickliness more than capable of handling "scum" like us?"

Finally, much to Khayin's delight the guard snapped. They turned around hood, still on and sharply muttered, "That wasn't us. We were merely patrolling the border when you and your half-mutilated friend came around. If you had just surrendered he wouldn't have died, but then again, what would assassins like you know of honor?" The guard's voice was weird, like a young boy trying to sound like a man. However, his response was what really shocked Khayin.

After a moment of stunned silence, Khayin threw back his head and laughed like a maniac. It was all a coincidence? Everything that had happened to them was one massive coincidence. Either this guard was full of shit, or Khayin had much worse luck than he thought. The guard had confirmed multiple things. Whether they were telling the truth, Xander was not behind the attack. Secondly, this guard must be high up on the food chain to know the details of the attack.

 _Why were we attacked? Because I was careless with Iago or because we as a group had done too much?_ Khayin froze. Not once had he considered assassination too much. He felt nauseous, as if he was betraying his companions' memories. He could still remember the stench of burning flesh as Butch was murdered, or Bart's high-pitched, mangled squeals as the Risen devoured him, or Hitama's courageous posture as he faced certain death. _Become something, but what is there for me to become? Commander, what did you see in me?_

Tears rolled down Khayin's face. What did his old band of bandits, Hitama, and Butch all see in him- for them to sacrifice their lives to protect him?

He was distracted from his despondence by the sound of a rat scurrying into the chamber. "Hey little guy. Pretty lonely in here isn't it?" The rat looked at Khayin curiously and twitched its whiskers. Khayin chuckled.

"Yeah, I think so too. Do you have a family? Anyone you care about?" Khayin asked his new friend. The rat came a bit closer to Khayin and sat expectantly- its interest piqued by its new housemate. It seemed to be asking "Why are you here?"

"Because I messed up, buddy." The guard snickered, and Khayin looked up indignantly. "Hey, if you aren't talking, I might as well talk to someone," he pouted. _Not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon_ , he thought. The rat scurried away, looked back at Khayin, hesitated, and then continued to scurry away.

Khayin lied down and closed his eyes. Only two things were in his control right now. Sleep, and his own confidence. The rest would follow.

Days had passed, each identical to the one before. Khayin would wake up, be given a few morsels to eat, and sit in silence until he tired. Occasionally, the rat- or Arthur as Khayin fondly referred to him- would come by and play around Khayin. It seemed that the rat too, took comfort in Khayin's company.

Only one thing changed. The guard would now sing softly. They had the most beautiful voice Khayin had ever heard. It was strong, smooth, and filled with the promise of joy. However, Khayin never dared to ask them about the song, or how they knew it. When they sang, Khayin would think of his mother's warmth, of the brief periods of happiness in his life, and his camaraderie with the Forlorn. Her words echoed softly within the halls of the desolate dungeon, filling it with a newfound hope.

Today however, he was feeling bold enough to venture a question. "That's a beautiful song; who taught you it?" The guard immediately stopped, and Khayin was almost beginning to regret his decision when they quietly mumbled, "My father."

Khayin, as usual, knew better than to push. Yet there was such a sadness in that answer, that he couldn't seem to hold back the next question, "What was he like?"

"Kind…and stern…it would break his heart to know his child was a soldier, much less guarding a good-for-nothing serial killer."

"Ouch. And I prefer the term 'assassin'. Serial killer sounds way too melodramatic. Like that Mad King fellow from Tellius. Like really, how more cliché can it get? And don't get me started on that Ike fellow. A bit too close to his staff officer, that one," he rambled.

Much to his delight, and shock, the guard burst into a giggling fit. And from that laughter, Khayin realized that his guard was not a young boy, but a woman. His joke wasn't even that good, but her laughter was the sweetest thing he had heard in a very long time.

Neither spoke, and the room was still cold, and the floor was still hard, and the walls were dark and dull and grey, but Khayin felt warmth nonetheless. Not another word passed between the two that day, and Khayin began to doze off to her angelic singing. For the first time, in a long time, Khayin fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Startled by a sudden bang of the dungeon door, Khayin leaped onto his feet. He heard heavy, determined footsteps and then a painfully familiar voice asking, "Is he awake?"

"At least give me time to put my make-up on Prickliness! Don't you know its bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?" goaded Khayin.

Xander stood before Khayin and snorted. "I should have had you gagged as well. Rachel here, however, insisted that would be overdoing it on you."

Xander turned to her. "I pray he didn't give you any trouble?"

Rachel pulled down her hood, her golden locks falling about her shoulders. Never had Khayin met a woman so unaware of her own beauty. Her pale white skin was flawless, like the winter's first snow- her eyes green like the fertile spring that follows.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she replied casually.

Xander nodded in approval. "Diligent as always." His shifted his focus once more to Khayin. "I have a proposition for you, cur."

Khayin smiled. "If cur is short for courageous then I'm all ears." Khayin groaned inwardly. That had to be the worst line he had ever come up with.

"I challenge you to a duel tomorrow. If you win, you get your freedom."

"And if I lose?"

Xander shrugged.

Khayin paused, and continued, "And if I decline your gracious offer?"

The prince smiled a wolfish grin, as if he had been expecting that answer all along. "Then you rot."

This was not a pleasant situation. Fighting Xander… certain death. Staying in this hell hole? Certain death. Khayin futilely tried to read Rachel's expression for a clue. _Maybe I can overpower the guard and escape during my transfer._ He had to remove "Rachel" from his mind. Only the guard remained. There was no way for him to escape otherwise.

"You sure drive a hard bargain, Prickles. It's difficult to play hard to get with a lad like you," Khayin jabbed. Sighing, Khayin continued, "That being said, I have no choice but to accept."

If the heir to Nohr was impressed, he didn't show it. "Very well, you will be escorted tomorrow morning." Xander curtly nodded towards Rachel and sauntered away.

Rachel took a hard look at Khayin. "You're a dead man."

"Woah woah woah, give me a little credit Rach-" Khayin interjected.

"I didn't give you permission to call me by my name," she snapped at him. "Milord Xander is by far the strongest knight in this realm. Otherwise, the Siegfried wouldn't have chosen him. They say divine weapons have a mind of their own."

Khayin chuckled, "Woah there, tiger. Give me some credit, I mean, I am assassin scum after all."

Rachel's stare seemed to pierce Khayin. "You were trained to kill mostly ill-prepared or defenseless victims. A coward, through and through. You wouldn't last a second against an elite swordsman."

Khayin wanted to retort that he had made quick work of some of Xander's patrol in a fair fight, but decided that provoking her was not the wisest course of action. He simply shrugged nonchalantly, and sat cross-legged and the hard prison floor. He closed his eyes, and meditated in preparation for the ordeal ahead.

 _Focus on his weakness: his temper. If I can't get him to lose his composure there's no realistic way to overpower him._ Khayin brainstormed ways to piss Xander off, but nothing surfaced. He sat, stumped, until his eyes rested upon Rachel. It was a long shot, but he gathered up the courage to pry some information out of her.

Khayin cleared his throat and casually ventured, "So, how did you end up in service to Prickles? Long-line of servants or such?" _Come on Rachel, don't let me down._ He waited nonchalantly for her reply, but on the inside, he was bursting with anxiety.

"Bandits raided my village. They slaughtered the men who tried to defend it, and were going to have their way with their wives and children, when Xander led the Nohrian Guard to save us," she said, shakily.

 _Sheesh, that's brutal. Let's see what else I can figure out._ Raising an eyebrow cynically, Khayin queried, "Where was your father in all of this?" Hopefully, this would be barbed enough to elicit an unmeasured response.

Rachel's cheeks flushed. "He was performing in the city when they attacked. I still remember how he raced in on his horse, lute barely strapped to his chest, hollering our names."

"And how did that lead to you serving an oath to Xander?" Khayin eagerly awaited her reply. This was the key to his survival.

"Why the hell do you care?" she questioned him, her eyes squinting in suspicion. It seemed that Rachel wasn't as dumb as he had hoped. However, Khayin had never preferred an easy quarry, and was riding the thrill of the hunt.

"I figured if I'm going to die tomorrow, I'd like to have a high opinion of the man who's going to kill me," Khayin falsely moped. This had the intended effect. Rachel's harsh expression suddenly softened considerably.

"One of the brigands tried to accost me. Xander saw me cut the poor bastard down, and saved my ass when the bandit's buddies attempted to avenge him. Such power, I had never seen anything like it before. The man fights like a demon. He tore one of them in half with a single stroke, and continued that strike upwards to split the other's face in two."

"I've been on the receiving end of that blade once," Khayin painfully reminisced, tracing his fingers over the scar across his torso.

"And you survived? I might have underestimated you," Rachel muttered, visibly impressed.

Shaking his head, Khayin replied, "Not really, I was pretty much dead, if it weren't for the old man."

That piqued Rachel's interest. "Old man?"

"A hermit that found me washed up further down the river Xander kicked me into," Khayin replied. "You still haven't told me how you ended up in service to Xander," he quipped.

"Ah…Well, he's more or less my mentor when it comes to the blade. I'm nowhere near his strength," she said rather glumly.

Khayin chuckled heartily. Rachel looked at him quizzically, thinking he was insulting her. "Don't be in such a rush to grow. Before you know it you'll be old and tired. I'm sure if you pace yourself, you'll pay back that debt to Prince Xander." Khayin blinked in surprise. He had never called Prickles by his actual title before.

Rachel was about to speak when Khayin put a finger to his lips. "I need to sleep. Tomorrow will be difficult enough." He had never sounded so tired in his life; it was as if every horror he had experienced was waiting to revisit him.

Rachel turned back around, and sat in stunned silence. She had never seen someone so miserable in her life. _Was I too quick to judge him?_ She shook her head vehemently. _Bandits, assassins, criminals- all the same scum. Murderers and lowlifes._

Sighing discontentedly, she turned around to look at Khayin. Even in his sleep, the pain was evident on his face. Who was this man? What had he been through? _Xander must see something in him to have spared him this many times. Maybe, tomorrow this villain's saga ends._

"C-Commander…" she heard Khayin stammer weakly in his sleep. Rachel turned back around and sighed once more. She would never know his story.

Singing softly, Rachel traced her fingers across the bars of his cell. She laid her head back to rest, and shed a single tear.

A huge clang roused Khayin the next morning. Two heavily armed guards came in, prepared to escort him to the dueling ground.

"The prisoner will rise," one of them gruffly said. Khayin decided to call him Gruffles.

Khayin knew better than to aggravate them before a duel. Last thing he needed were more unwarranted injuries, so he stood up without any jibes or taunts.

The other guard, who had a twirly moustache (Khayin would call him Stache), unlocked the door and untied Khayin's chains from the floor, leaving only his hands fettered.

"The prisoner will move," Gruffles ordered. Stache moved behind Khayin and prodded him with the butt of his sword.

As Khayin exited the cell, Rachel did not utter a word. She didn't even look him in the eyes. _What a shame,_ Khayin thought to himself. _She was good company._

After what seemed an eternity, they finally reached the arena. Stache removed Khayin's fetters and Gruffles roughly shoved him, tumbling, into the arena.

Khayin leaped to his feet and brushed himself off. "Very unnecessary good sirs," he quipped indignantly. Gruffles shook his head in disapproval and Stache chuckled, locking the gate, as they turned and walked away.

Xander walked into the dueling grounds and locked eyes with Khayin. "Prepare yourself," he called out, tossing him a blade.

Khayin picked it up and assumed an offensive stance. The two men circled and gauged each other for a few tense moments, then dashed at each other. The first two swipes both made solid steel-on-steel contact, then Khayin leaped back.

"You're indecisive," Xander bellowed. "Is your mind as shaken as your sword arm?" He thrusted at Khayin, who barely manage to parry in time and counter. Xander dodged effortlessly.

"Is your mind as full of shit as your ass?" Khayin mocked, imitating Xander's tone of voice.

Xander- face red- charged once more. This time, Khayin slid down past Xander, jumped to his feet and landed a shallow cut across his back. Xander gave out a pained grunt, much to Khayin's satisfaction.

However, Khayin knew a cheap tactic like that would only work once on someone as proficient as Xander.

"Parlor tricks, scum?" Xander snorted.

"Sore loser, Prickles."

"The battle is far from over."

Khayin dashed at Xander, but overextended a bit too much. Xander punished this with two swift cuts to Khayin's legs, bringing him to his knees momentarily.

Khayin rolled to dodge the follow up execution stroke. _Xander is starting to go all out. Another round like that and I'm done for. It's time to push his buttons._

"You and Rachel seem pretty close. A bit too close, maybe, for her to be willing to spend three nights just watching me sleep and eat. She put out?" Khayin jibed.

Xander was visibly infuriated. "That is of no concern to you, blackguard!" he fumed.

Khayin smirked obnoxiously. "Aww… whassamatter? Is Prickles jealous of all the quality time I spent with her? She sure can sing like an angel. I wonder if she moans like-" Khayin dropped the sentence to narrowly avoid being skewered by Xander.

 _Yep, he's definitely pissed._ Khayin tried to thrust towards Xander, but his blade was beat down rapidly. He winced as Xander's shoulder plowed into his torso, throwing Khayin to the ground.

Khayin groaned, winded. He attempted to stand but Xander pushed him back down on all fours. Xander mercilessly kicked him in his already-broken ribs, turning him over.

"Die as you lived, craven cur," Xander said solemnly, as he pulled his arm back to deliver the killing stroke.

Khayin, screaming in pain, raised his left foot and triggered the acid release mechanism. Xander had to duck to avoid getting splashed, and this gave Khayin enough time to grab his sword and return to his feet.

"I've got a lot of parlor tricks, buddy," Khayin chided.

Xander shook his head. "You only prolong the inevitable. It is better to die on your feet, like a man, than to live on your knees."

Khayin laughed. "You've got it backwards, Prickles. It's better to live on your feet, than to die on your knees.

"Enough arrogance. Prepare yourself. Your end draws near." Xander sheathed the blade he was wielding, to unsheathe the Siegfried. Its dark aura seemed to form a protective barrier around him. "I have a few parlor tricks of my own."

Xander delivered a series of lightning quick blows that Khayin frantically managed to parry. Khayin went for a horizontal strike, but Xander ducked under the blade, then stabbed Khayin through his left leg, leaving the Siegfried impaled in it. He grabbed Khayin and punched him twice in the face, breaking his nose.

Khayin could feel warm blood pouring down his face. "Not the face, that's the money-maker," he weakly whined.

Xander threw him to the floor, and Khayin felt his tears begin to well. "Your friends always die for you. And every time you survive, you neglect their sacrifice!" He stomped on Khayin's chest.

"Look at you. You're weak, feeble, not even able to raise a hand to defend yourself," Xander spat.

"This is for every mother," Xander cried as he unsheathed his second sword. He delivered two excruciatingly painful, but not fatal, shallow cuts along Khayin's right arm.

"This is for every child." He lifted Khayin back up and drove his knees twice into Khayin's gut. Khayin weakly muttered something incoherent and vomited.

"And this is for every other innocent life you've ended." Xander slowly choked out Khayin. He expressionlessly watched Khayin gasps and gurgles. As Khayin neared death, something in the good prince stirred.

Xander released his grip, and yanked the Siegfried out of Khayin's leg. He paused momentarily. "I don't know why I'm sparing your life. The gods know you certainly would not have done the same. He beckoned to the two guards, Gruffles and Stache, to lug Khayin unceremoniously to his cell.

Rachel's eyes widened when they returned. "Galahad, he beat Xander?" she queried incredulously.

Galahad, also known by Khayin as Gruffles, raised an eyebrow. "Does that seem likely?" he muttered, nodding his head towards Khayin's horrifyingly broken and torn form.

Stache guffawed heartily. "A sense o' pity he's got, the young master does. One second 'e was beatin' the poor chap to a pulp, and tha next he be callin' us to drag 'is sorry arse back to this here cell."

Rachel tried to hide her unexpected joy towards Khayin's survival by nonchalantly glancing over his wounds. "Get me some balm and herbs for a paste. And some boiled rags to wrap the wound. It would be a shame if he died now."

Khayin began to stir, but stopped moving as pain shot throughout his body. He weakly raised his head, but Rachel wasn't there.

Arthur the rat was sitting close by, as if guarding Khayin from the other inhabitants of the prison hall.

"Hey buddy," he muttered weakly. "Don't worry about me; I'm a tough breed. I guess I get that from my father."

"Talking to a rat? How the mighty have fallen," a familiar voice chided. Khayin's eyes widened in shock.

"Commander? How are you…I'm hallucinating aren't I?"

Hitama shrugged. "Probably. But that pain you feel is definitely there. The loneliness you're trying to avoid is definitely there."

Khayin was crying. "Well what am I supposed to do? Scream? Cry? Pray to the gods in their heavens above and kingdoms below to spare me my suffering? That didn't do my mother any good, and it won't do me any."

Exhaling heavily, the illusion knelt beside Khayin. "Survive, and live. That's what she last told you, correct? The way I see it, up till now you've survived. It's time for you to live," he advised as Khayin blacked out again.

Khayin regained consciousness to soft, beautiful singing, and a gentle touch upon his injuries. Lazily opening one eye, he witnessed Rachel cleaning his wounds.

"You must be satisfied to see me like this," he teased with a grin.

"More like annoyed. It would have been so much simpler for me if Xander killed you. Now I'm playing nurse," she retorted. However, she was unable to hide her delight. "You got what you deserved."

"No, I didn't. I deserve much worse than this. You and Xander are right- I _am_ a good for nothing. My mother, my old crew, Butch and Hitama- they all died that I may live. But I haven't been living. I've been surviving. That's an excuse I can't use anymore."

Rachel did not react to his words, but was impressed. _Let's hope you mean that_ , she said to herself. Yet, all she told Khayin was, "There, I've replaced the bandage. Xander should be in here any moment now."

She left the cell, locking it behind her, and Khayin closed his eyes- taking a deep breath as he rehearsed what he wanted to tell Xander.

When he walked in, Khayin did not give him time to speak. Pulse racing, he kneeled on one foot. "I owe you my life, Pri- I mean, Lord, Xander. I have many faults, and I have much to atone for, and I, um," Khayin faltered as Xander howled in laughter at his discomfort.

"Khayin," Xander began cautiously after he had calmed down, "Are you swearing fealty to me."

After a moment that seemed to be frozen in time, Khayin, without any trace of sarcasm, said, "Yes."


End file.
